


All Is Fair

by Warwick (sspsdd)



Category: Homestuck, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-10-31 17:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10904172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sspsdd/pseuds/Warwick
Summary: Following a streak of incredibly bad luck, Problem Sleuth finds out his mother's arranged for him to marry someone he's never met before. Can he work past the fact that he's definitely being married off to a criminal? Does love conquer terrible morals and illicit activities?





	1. Bait and Switch

**Author's Note:**

> I am always open to constructive criticism so feel free to leave me a comment with anything I need to fix or improve on :>

The white slip of paper glared up at Sleuth from his desk, stark black words almost incomprehensible to him. A two week suspension? He didn’t need this, not now. He’d already taken out a loan to help pay off his car on top of helping his dear old ma with her quickly accumulating hospital bills. Aside from that he was barely making rent and, awful as he felt about it, his girlfriend payed for most of his food. He knew she felt bad for him and he felt bad that she felt bad. He would make it up to her though just as soon as he recovered from all this terrible luck.

 

For now though he needed a plan. He could do odd jobs, someone always needed something done and he was pretty okay at doing things. Heavy lifting, body guarding maybe, gardening was okay. He would check the paper and sift through all the ads for “models, no questions asked” on craigslist, there would be work somewhere if he looked hard enough. Yeah okay, he would be okay. He picked up the paper and folded it neatly to shove away in his pockets just as the office door creaked open, hinges ancient and worn and far too expensive to replace. After a moment the Inspector poked his gaunt face in, glancing around the room before finally resting his eyes on Sleuth.

 

“I ah…,” he trailed off for a moment, stepping into the room and quickly shoving his hands into his pockets, “You got the paper then. Sorry, really, it’s gonna be tough not having you around.”

 

Sleuth sighed and pulled his hat off to run his fingers through his hair. Comfortable and, with PI, unavoidable silence followed until the Inspector spoke again in his perpetually shaky and just loud enough tone, “I’ll take you out for a drink sometime. I mean, I’ll make Ace come too… It’ll be a… a... ”

 

The lanky man leaned against the door frame and directed his gaze towards the floor, frowning as Sleuth finished the sentence, “A date? We better go somewhere nicer than that hole in the wall from last time then, Ace almost put a fist through the bartender’s face.”

 

Inspector let out a quiet laugh before pulling a hand out of his pocket to cover his mouth. When it dropped back to his side he was frowning again, thin lips pressed together in a tight line. He tilted his head to the side, “You’ll be okay, right? I mean with your mother and all…”

 

Sleuth quickly waved a dismissive hand and shrugged, “It’s fine, it’s fiiine. No worries, things always work out in the end, right? Besides, if I-”

 

He dropped what he was saying as muffled jazz played from somewhere. A saxophone tooted louder as he pulled an old flip phone from his jacket pocket and raised an eyebrow at it. He was about to finish his sentence but as soon as he looked up Inspector was already gone and the door had closed behind him.

 

“Jeez,” he said to himself as he opened the phone and held it to his ear, “This is Sleuth.”

 

“We need to talk,” came over the speaker, Parcel Mistress’ voice made more ominous by the electronic distortion only an old phone can manage.

 

Now “we need to talk” was never good to hear and Sleuth knew that but he tried to remain hopeful that this wasn’t going anywhere bad. He slowly sat down in his chair, probably for the last time in a good while, and leaned back in preparation for whatever came next.

 

“You know I was thinking about running for office, right?” she continued, “I ran into an old friend from highschool, she’s done that kind of thing before. Actually she’s… Well, that doesn’t matter I guess but she really thinks I can do it. And I just,” the sound of a car from her end, probably passing by wherever she was, “I want to do this. Sleuth, are you listening?”

 

“Mm,” he grunted as he closed his eyes, “Yeah. I mean you’re super good at organizing stuff and you’re, like, super responsible so I bet you’d be really good as… what, mayor right? That’s what you said the other day.”

 

She laughed and then was cut off as another car passed, “Yeah, for starters. If I can do that then maybe something… bigger, I guess? The mail’s important but maybe there’s something even more important for me. So I wanted to-”

 

And another car. Truck probably, by the deafening rush of noise and rattle of at least eight wheels that masked whatever she’d said.

 

“What?” Sleuth asked.

 

After a moment she responded, “Sorry, I’m waiting for my ride. I said I want to focus on that, maybe, for a while.”

 

Ah. That was… He knew what that meant. He opened his mouth and for a second he couldn’t get the words out. Finally he managed, “I’m sure you’ll do great, I’ll vote for you.”

 

Awkward silence punctuated only by the hiss of static before the honking of a car carried over to his ear, followed by a quick, “Just for a little while! I’ll mail you. My ride’s here but… Thanks.”

 

“I-,” the click of her hanging up and then dead silence, “...Love you.”

 

He slowly lowered his arm. He hadn’t even noticed before but his hands were shaking and his knuckles were white from gripping the phone too tightly. He looked at the glowing screen, checking the black pixels of the clock against his background, a picture of Mistress and himself at the fair. She was holding a stuffed giraffe with an excited look on her face. Seeing that sent a shot of pure, undistilled distress straight from his throat to his chest and he could feel it settle in his stomach. It hurt a bit but mostly it felt heavy, out of place, as if someone had set a bowling ball inside of him and expected him to carry on like normal.

 

The time read 19:05. He could go out drinking, it was a socially accepted hour for that. Just a few drinks though, enough to get this bowling ball out of his body but not enough to stop him from being able to drive home. He stood, albeit slowly and with less feeling in his legs than he’d like, and stiffly stretched his arms upward. He nearly dropped his phone when it began to ring again and he slowly inhaled, exhaled, and let it ring until the disgustingly upbeat jazz died down. After thirty seconds of silence he glanced at the notification of a missed call and then pressed his thumb over the red button on the right. The phone powered down and he shoved it in his coat. If she had anything else to say to him she could leave a voicemail, he really didn’t want to talk right now. He was afraid he might say something he couldn’t take back later.

 

The drive to the cheapest bar he could think of wasn’t good at all. His radio had died a few weeks ago and he’d managed before, humming or singing to himself, but he didn’t have the energy to do anything besides roll down the window and let the rush of wind and the sounds of the city distract him. By the time he got to the bar and parked his beat up sedan he was in an advanced state of numbness to the entire situation. Not even just the breakup; everything, every bad thing that had rapidly and ceaselessly happened to him in the past few months. 

 

In no time he’d downed two hard drinks and was working on a third. They were even starting to taste like something other than gasoline and he couldn’t be more grateful for that. He didn’t notice the man in wrinkled black clothing and a fedora sit down next to him and he missed whatever the guy asked him, it only registering after several seconds. He looked over and tilted his head to the side, partially to see if the guy was actually talking to him and partially because he was already getting dizzy. That’s how it always went, his balance first and then his ability to make good choices. He didn’t like Drunk Sleuth, he wasn’t a fan of the choices Drunk Sleuth made. And he always woke up under his bed, usually in a puddle of vomit. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to crawl there in his drunken stupor but it happened pretty much every time he drank. And, he knew deep down,  that was the end he was bound for tonight.

 

It seemed the man had indeed said something to him. What, he had no idea. The man wore a black jacket covering a white shirt that appeared to have seen better days, several holes torn in it near the stomach. His eyes were an eerie pale grey highlighted by thick eyelashes, a stark contrast to his dark brown skin. Messy curls of hair hung in his face as he eyed the detective.

 

“Hey, you dense?” he asked, voice gravelly and harsh, “I asked you a question.”

 

Sleuth blinked and shook his head, “Sorry, bad night. Run that by me again.”

 

The man grinned broadly and Sleuth squinted. Was it just him or were this man’s teeth almost… too sharp? He really should stop drinking. He should go home and get in bed and in the morning things would be better.

 

But he wasn’t going to do that, obviously.

 

“I asked if I could buy you a drink,” the man said, “And I’m thinking the answer’s yes.”

 

Sleuth nodded. The less he was spending here the better. The man stood up and motioned for Sleuth to follow him, heading towards a booth. Sleuth wobbled a bit, throwing a glance around the room as he walked, and sat down on a plush and probably entirely unclean bench in the corner of the room. It was still pretty early but there were a good number of people around, mostly with friends it looked like. He didn’t mind drinking with a stranger if it made him look less like a lonely alcoholic.

 

The man gave him a firm pat on the shoulder and told him, “You just sit your sweet ass right here and I’ll get us something, alrighty?”

 

And so he did. The man came back with two glasses of something clear and… sweet smelling. Sleuth sipped at it and coughed, the sweet-bitter taste of licorice immediately washing over him. If he weren’t three drinks in he might have turned the sugary sludge down but at this point he wasn’t sure he’d say no to anything short of literal poison and even then… well, he would probably at least hesitate.

 

“So you uh,” Sleuth began, watching the man sit down across from him, “You come here often?”

 

The other man downed half his drink in one go and set the glass down with an audible  _ thunk _ against the grimy wooden table between them, “Nah, I just figured I’d try somewhere new. No one to recognize me here, ya know?”

 

Should Sleuth recognize this guy? He could be an actor or something, he had a generally very attractive face and he seemed pretty charismatic and Sleuth had the feeling he  _ had _ seen him somewhere before.

 

“Name’s Jack by the way,” the man introduced himself and held out a hand. That was a fake name if Sleuth had ever heard one but he figured the guy had his reasons.

 

The detective shook his hand, “I’m Sleuth, nice to meet you. Have I seen you around anywhere? You’re… you look like someone I’ve seen somewhere.”

 

Jack shrugged, “My dad’s a pretty big deal so probably. I’m here to get away from all that shit though. What about you, huh? You don’t really look like the drinking alone in the bad part of town type, your clothes are way too white.”

 

Sleuth glanced down. Right, he came here straight from work so he was still in his mostly clean white trench coat and hat. Actually, besides the colors, him and Jack were dressed pretty similarly. Not that there was a shortage of fedoras in the city, there were a pretty good amount of haberdasheries around. Still, it was good to meet someone else with a good sense of fashion.

 

“I’m a detective. I was anyway, I just got suspended and it’s  _ dumb _ . Like I stopped a kid from getting  _ murdered  _ and they suspend me for breaking in? That’s ridiculous, right?”

 

“A little B ‘n E never hurt anyone,” Jack laughed, knocking back the rest of his drink.

 

“Right?” Sleuth said, still sipping at his glass of whatever, “Two whole weeks! I have no idea what I’m gonna do for money.”

 

“Hold that thought,” Jack said, standing up and shaking his now empty glass.

 

Sleuth watched him walk over to the bar and suddenly felt his body start to lean to one side, his sense of balance apparently entirely out the window already. He managed to catch himself and sit back upright, leaning his elbow against the table and resting his cheek against his hand. Smooth and planned, entirely as intended. When Jack returned he sat down next to the detective and grinned as he set two more glasses of licorice swill in front of them. Sleuth quickly finished off the drink he’d been working on and only just barely held back a grimace as he eyed the fresh one.

 

“I’m sure someone with a face as cute as yours’ll find money somewhere,” Jack said casually, leaning back and stretching his arms above his head.

 

“Aw, you think I’m cute?” Sleuth asked with a wide grin on his face.

 

Jack looked like he was about to say something but as soon as Sleuth spoke the bar’s front door slammed open and they both turned to see what all the noise was. A towering man in a trench coat and a hat with a wide brim took up the entire doorway; water dripped off of him in heavy droplets from the storm that had apparently picked up outside at some point. He slowly turned his head to scan around the room before his heavy-browed eyes landed on Sleuth and Jack’s booth and with weighty footsteps he approached.

 

As he got closer Sleuth could see that the man had to stand at at least seven feet tall and several feet wide. The man was built like a pale, freckled bus and he definitely looked like someone who could handle himself in a fight. As he shook the water from his coat sleeves and crossed his arms the detective could only imagine how immensely ripped this guy had to be under his coat. Wait, no, that wasn’t a line of thought Sleuth was going to pursue. Strike that one, the guy was built and Sleuth was leaving the thought there.

 

He spared Sleuth only a second of acknowledgement before staring down at Jack and gruffly saying, “Boss, your dad wants you home. He’s gonna be mad it took me this long to find you, what with the wedding soon and all.”

 

Jack let out an overly dramatic sigh and shrugged, “C’mon, I was just having a little fun. In fact, you didn’t even see me here. Wrong guy, there’s plenty of guys who wear black and hang around skeevy bars.”

 

“Sorry boss, not this time,” the large man shook his head, “Them’s the breaks.”

 

There was a moment of silence as Jack seemed to consider what was being said to him and that he might not, in fact, have much choice but to go home to whatever was waiting for him. Sounded like a family thing to Sleuth, probably some broad wanting him back for wedding planning or something.

 

“Fine,” Jack said at last as he stood up, “But we’re taking my buddy here home first. Wouldn’t want him getting in an accident or anything trying to drive himself.”

 

Sleuth almost opened his mouth to protest but he made the mistake of starting to stand at the same time and the sheer amount of effort it took to stay on both feet and not fall over like a dummy was too much. The next thing he knew he was walking through the rain to a sleek black car with tinted windows parked a ways away. Real fancy, he thought, this Jack guy was definitely someone.

 

As it turned out,  he was someone with a hand firmly groping at Sleuth’s chest under his shirt and the other gripping his messy hair in the back of the car as they drove to Sleuth’s apartment. The detective sat pressed against the plush leather seating with Jack in his lap, the other man currently straddling him and sucking at his neck while mumbling some very choice words Sleuth hoped he would remember when he sobered up.

 

They hit a speed bump too fast and Sleuth moaned as Jack bit down only a little too hard on the detective’s already tender flesh, purple and red bruises forming over his jugular from Jack’s rough attentions.

 

“This the place?” the brute driving the car grunted as they came to a stop.

 

Sleuth sighed and pulled himself away from the other man just enough to peer out the dark window. His apartment complex, a dreary old brick building with a cracked wooden sign out front, stood in the rain like a miserable titan awaiting the day it finally topples over. 

 

“Yeah, this is me,” he confirmed, wiggling out from beneath Jack as the other man moved aside to allow him to leave.

 

As he slid out of the warm car and into the cold bite of the autumn rain he felt a hand slap his ass. He turned to glance at Jack who was giving him fingerguns and winking.

 

“You’re gonna be fine,” Jack called as he closed the door, “See ya, sweetcheeks!” 

 

Sleuth watched the car drive away until it faded into the black downpour only illuminated in glimmering cones by streetlights. He slowly turned to go inside only to realize he’d lost his hat at some point, probably in the car. Cold water streaked down his face and he ran a hand through his soaked hair, slicking it back and out of his face. Whatever, he had a spare. Every good detective kept at least one backup hat just in case of emergencies.

 

The inside of the building wasn’t any warmer than the outside and he slowly made his way up the stairs to the third floor. The elevator was out as usual, the management being as slow as always to fix anything. This wasn’t the kind of place you lived and expected to have things like elevators or working heat. But he made it to his door, 25, and fumbled around in his pockets with his cold hands. Thankfully he’d managed to hang onto his keys at least. He let himself in and flicked on the light, groaned at the brightness, and immediately flicked it off again. He blindly made his way to the bedroom and fell face first into his bed. After a moment of laying face down in the comforting embrace of familiar blankets and pillows he slowly rolled over and emptied his pockets to place the contents on a nearby end table.

 

He held his phone and stared at it in the darkness, the hours prior coming back to him again in the muted haze only alcohol could provide. The events felt disjointed, like the time at the bar and on the way home were years divorced from Mistress breaking up with him. Like they were separate lifetimes.

 

He turned the phone back on, met with the white screen and black logo blindingly shining at him as it powered up and then his background of himself and Mistress. He had a missed call and a voicemail that took him a long minute to remember. Right, that’s why his phone was off in the first place. He closed his eyes and inhaled, preparing for whatever he was about to hear, and then played it. He set the phone on his chest as the robotic voice of his voicemail told him there was One Unheard Message. This was fine, he was going to be fine. Whatever else Mistress had to say he would take it in stride and he could handle it like the adult he was.

 

He was instead met by the voice of his mother, her words less quick and biting than they had been in his childhood but still pointed and on the brink of telling him he should be doing better. Her accent came over the phone clearer than it did face to face somehow, her parents’ native language of mandarin chinese still heavy in her voice despite her not having spoken a lick of it since her mother passed away when Sleuth was still a young child. She’d never even tried to teach chinese to him and his voice never betrayed anything other than the flat tone of someone who’d spent the first fifteen years of their life in the suburbs just outside a big city.

 

“I have wonderful news,” she began and he relaxed some as she continued, “I’ve been at church a lot lately and I’ve met a lovely fellow. I’ve told you about him before, Mastermind Kingfisher? You remember, right after I started getting sick I just kept running into him. As it turns out he also has a son. Such a nice boy, I’ve been out to tea with him. And Kingfisher thinks it’s time for him to get married, he’s at that age where if he doesn’t… well then what’s the point, really? Have to settle down eventually, you know. I’m sure you’ll like him. They’re a good family and they have more going for them than that mail girl, as lovely as she is.”

 

Sleuth could feel himself sobering up very quickly as he realized his mother had just set him up to marry someone he’d never met. A reasonable reaction, he thought, as he quickly sat up and sent the phone flying to the floor. Unfortunately the message droned on, his mother detailing just how wonderful whoever Sleuth was marrying is and how much better off he’d be now. He’d already tuned it out though as the dull ache of panic was replaced by an icy cold fear as he tried to think of how he was going to get out of this, what he could do to stop what was absolutely going to be something he didn’t want.

  
But there was nothing. As a jolt of panic slid down his spine he lurched forward and threw up. In the distance the wind howled and rain continued to tap against his windows endlessly.


	2. Pay Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a nice, short chapter. Fuckin buckle up mates, we're about to go from 0 to 60 real fast after this.

Sleuth awoke with aching limbs and something cold on his face. It took only a moment to realize he was under the bed in a small puddle of his own vomit, his stomach having mostly been voided atop his bed the previous night if his memory was correct. How he ended up under here anyway he wasn’t sure but he spent five minutes slowly wiggling out to tiredly lay on the cold wood floor and consider his options. He was halfway through a plan involving running away to Canada and changing his name when his phone rang.

 

He caught it just before it could go over to voicemail, having had to scramble to find it within a pile of clothes in the corner of his room where it landed last night. The sound of his mother’s voice woke him up enough to sit down on his bed (not even in the now dry vomit! Good job Sleuth!) and groggily nod along with what she was saying.

 

He was apparently set up to meet the guy he was supposed to marry today, adding to the ever growing list of things he didn’t want to do and wasn’t ready for. Not that he had much of a choice, he guessed. He didn’t think it would go over well if he skipped out on this. And hey, if it was supposed to be a date the guy might even buy him dinner and if there was anything Sleuth loved it was meals he wasn’t paying for.

 

She gave him the location and time before telling him not to embarrass himself. Once she hung up, Sleuth rubbed at his face and felt something cold and sticky in his stubble. He trudged off to the bathroom and was met with the reflection of a man who had no control over his life. His pale hair was an absolute mess, sticking out in every direction, at the point where it was just long enough to need to be cut but just short enough to look okay when it was brushed. His eyes were red, not bloodshot but definitely close with red-pink veins reaching up like vines from the corners, and while he was pretty sure he hadn’t cried last night his face definitely seemed to think otherwise. His jaw was dotted with stubble and the regurgitated remains of whatever he’d managed to eat last night; red and purple stood out in splotches and dots across his neck. God, he was too old to have hickies. He turned on the tap and then shut it off again, instead opting to grab his toothbrush and toothpaste and turn on the shower.

 

He stripped off his clothes and dumped them in an overflowing hamper while he waited for the water to heat up, a process that always took a little while and never lasted long enough. Some day he wanted to live somewhere where he could take showers that lasted longer than ten minutes or maybe even a bath. If there was anything he missed about his mother’s house, besides it being a real house and not a cheap apartment, was the big old ceramic bathtub. Nothing said “not on the verge of starving at all times” like a bathtub.

 

As he clambered in and shut the rickety sliding glass door he just stood under the hot water as steam rose around him. Again he considered just not going to meet the guy. God, he didn’t even remember his name and his mother had said it at least half a dozen times. The situation hadn’t even had time to fully sink in yet but it was definitely getting there as Sleuth scrubbed the vomit from his face.

 

By the time he was out of the shower and shaving away the stubble in the foggy mirror he’d decided that he was just going to try and make the best of this situation. It would make his ma happy and it wasn’t like he had to worry about breaking the news to Mistress. And if this all worked out, hey, maybe he could move somewhere with a nice bathtub. Maybe his husband would even be hot, maybe some beefcake bodybuilder or something.

 

This resolve had already begun to wither by the time he reached the art gallery. The bus trip there was short enough and the weather had been nice for once but it was still just enough time for him to start to doubt himself again. He tugged the scarf he’d grabbed at the last minute tighter around his neck and rubbed at his face. This wasn’t a matter of rushing in or not rushing into an apartment with a bomb in it, it wasn’t whether or not he could outmatch a criminal as he fought to apprehend a man with a gun. This was an entire committed relationship with another living, breathing person he’d never met before. This was marrying a stranger. The idea of marrying someone he knew freaked him out on its own; this was enough to send a numbness creeping down his spine.

 

He looked up at the sign in front of the big white building. Plain black letters spelled out Rain Art Gallery, indicating that he was definitely at the place he was told to be. It was still a little early but he was determined to not mess this up and it wasn’t like he had anything else to do today what with the suspension and all.

 

Right. He could do this. It would be fine, the guy wouldn’t be old or gross or saggy or anything. Probably just a normal guy who did normal stuff like not chopping up people or eating their limbs or anything. When Sleuth got nervous his worries got weird, he’d always been like that. Back when he was in highschool he was always worried one of his classmates would eat his homework and he’d fail his classes or ghosts would steal his gym shoes and he’d get in trouble. It was always funny later but in the moment he could not be more worried about anything but his future husband being a cannibal.

 

It was still early in the day and the gallery, stark white walls dotted with square and rectangular art pieces, was quiet. Footsteps in another room, a clock ticking nearby. Two people in the front room, both women. Sleuth relaxed a little bit and sighed. Maybe the guy wasn’t here yet. Sleuth could take some time to look around; he wasn’t really the fine arts type but hey he was here and so was the art.

 

Most of the art was abstract and he didn’t really get it, one was just a blue canvas with a messy green splotch in the middle. Another kind of… he thought it looked a little like a cat with six legs that was also on fire. There was a nice painting of a dog in a silly hat. He liked that one.

 

“Problem Sleuth?” Sleuth nearly jumped out of his skin when a man’s voice spoke his name.

 

A man with warm umber skin and expensive looking clothing stood near the door with his silvery eyes resting on Sleuth. He was anything but old or saggy. Actually, he hardly looked to be much older than Sleuth which was a huge relief. Not only that, he fit the “tall, dark, and handsome” trope almost to a tee. He was tall and slender with the high cheekbones and full lips of a model. Gold eyeliner framed his eyes and a small, glittering earring decorated his left ear. He wasn’t overly dressed for the location but his clothes were nice and free of wrinkles, a pale pink cardigan half buttoned over a white shirt and tucked into black slacks. Even his shoes were spotless. Maybe not a cannibal but Sleuth could definitely see this guy spinning around in one of those big chairs villains had in movies as the hero came to confront him about his evil plans.

 

After a long moment the man finally spoke again, though all he had to say was, “Ah. You then. Fascinating.”

 

“I uh. Yes, I’m Sleuth,” the detective stammered, “You must be the guy. The man. The marriage man, that I’m marrying.”

 

He just looked Sleuth up and down with his half lidded stare and then looked away to glance out the window. Never in his life had Sleuth felt so fucking judged and immediately disapproved of even after all the time of living with his mother, even after meeting Mistress’ parents who were definitely not happy with his line of work. He didn’t have any words, he had no idea what to say here. He was sure he hadn’t made a good first impression and he wanted to follow up with something better than “the marriage man”.

 

Thankfully the man spoke again in his flat tone before Sleuth could say anything else dumb, “My name is Diamonds Droog, I’ll expect you to remember it. Come.”

 

Diamonds. It was fitting, Sleuth thought. Something about him was unsettling though. The taller man began to walk further into the gallery, into one of the back rooms with weird lighting. It wasn’t as bright as the white front room; this area appeared to be a long hallway of sorts with black lights pointed at the artwork to highlight the white paint. It was definitely eerie. Sleuth trailed behind his… shit, his fiance. He didn’t think he’d be using that word for anyone any time soon. He shook his head and tried to dismiss whatever was making his so worried.

 

Eventually Diamonds came to a stop in front of a large piece and stood with his arms crossed, pondering it. To Sleuth it just looked like a lot of paint splatters. Most of the art here just looked like paint splatters.

 

“Problem Sleuth,” his fiance began, turning his head only slightly to glance down at the detective who uncomfortably adjusted his scarf, “You work in law enforcement for a private agency. You live in a very small apartment on the east side of town, you drive a tan Honda. Your mother has cancer. Is this all correct?”

 

Sleuth nodded, “Yeah. Right on the mark.”

 

“Good. My name is Diamonds Droog, my father is a very powerful man who owns multiple businesses. I myself am a doctor. This is all you need to know.”

 

Sleuth nodded along as Diamonds turned his gaze back towards the painting and gave it a slight frown, “I will be overseeing your mother’s treatment from now on, my father will cover all expenses.”

 

Sleuth blinked, the breath caught in his throat for a moment. He’d been struggling to help his mother pay for all of her quickly accumulating medical bills for the past two months, he had been sure that he’d have to sell his car or something soon just to keep up with them. And it was all just going to be taken care of for free now? Sleuth was practically in shock, he didn’t know what to say.

 

“You must understand the position this puts you in.”

 

“I…,” Sleuth managed, “Yeah. I mean I’m super grateful, I don’t… I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

 

There was a long silence before Diamonds spoke again, raising a hand with perfectly manicured nails to motion at the painting before them, “Tell me, what do you see?”

 

Sleuth squinted in the dark and stared at the sprays and lines of glowing white across the canvas. It was all just a mess to him. Slowly though he began to make things out, figures painted in black and blue. A traffic cone.

 

Police tape.

 

“It’s a crime scene,” he said finally as he worked out the evidence markers, the white spatters of blood across pavement.

 

Diamonds glanced down at a watch on his wrist and then turned to head back towards the front room. He looked back at Sleuth to say, “Ah yes, I suppose I can let you into one more part of my personal life. I’m sure you would end up meeting her eventually anyway.”

 

With that he exited the dark hallway and Sleuth followed after. As they reached the front room a girl in dark clothing who looked to be about high school age bounced towards them and greeted Diamonds cheerfully. As soon as she spotted Sleuth she waved and grinned.

 

“This is my lovely daughter, Aradia,” Diamonds said in his off puttingly emotionless tone.

 

“Hello,” she said as she waved again, shocks of black coils bouncing as she moved. She was dressed head to toe in black clothing, the name of a band Sleuth had never heard of emblazoned on her shirt. She was covered in necklaces and bracelets with eyeballs and bats and spiderwebs hanging from them and she very much so looked like she’d crawled out of a Hot Topic.

 

“She’s going through a phase,” Diamonds assured Sleuth, “And as such I’m obligated to take her to see whichever slasher film is out at the moment. Bloody Nails 3, I believe it is? You must excuse me.”

 

With that Sleuth parted with the other man and was left standing near the entrance to the art gallery. Though the date, if it could be called that, was brief, it left the detective with a whole lot of new information to process. For now he was just going to focus on being content that he was being married off to someone as stunningly beautiful as Diamonds. And a doctor, even! A doctor who was going to treat his mother!

 

For the first time in a while things were looking up. There was still a certain uneasiness twisting in Sleuth’s chest but he hoped it would ease with time now that he had a lot less to worry about.

 

He would go buy himself a coffee, he decided, and then go retrieve his car.


End file.
